The secret life of socks, tupperware lids, and hair bands

For as long as I can remember, I have always been intrigued by the mysterious disappearances of life's seemingly unessential items. They only become essential with their unexplained absence. Yes...I'm talking about socks, tupperware lids and hair bands.

Socks aren't essential for everyday living. Especially during the summer months. Tupperware lids are only useful when transporting leftovers comes into play. Hair bands usually only affect women, or men with longer hair. But when there's a shortage or missing half of these items, it becomes a problem. A big problem.

Despite the countless number of times that I have laundered my clothes, it still irks me beyond belief when it's all said and done and I have a basket full of orphaned socks. It doesn't matter when it's a plain white sock. But you can't wear an orphaned argyle sock! You can't mix and match black, blue or grey ones either. The question that comes to mind is, where did they all go? Did they get sucked into the black abyss of the washing machine holes? Did they get swallowed into the dryer vent? Or did they simply just walk away? Sometimes they can be sneaky and slither down the space between the machines and the wall. Maybe it's time to install a video camera in the basement.

Earlier this year, I cut down significantly on the number of socks sacrificed during the laundry ritual by not washing them with sheets and towels. Many a time I would change the sheets on my bed to find an orphan sock hanging out in the fitted sheet. No more. Once, I wore a pair of jeans all day before noticing a suspicious bulge behind my knee cap. The cold sweats started and my mind raced, wondering the reasons why my knee was so swollen and unsightly. A quick trip to the bathroom to check revealed a balled up red Christmas sock stuck in the leg of my jeans. Phew.

Just this morning, I was searching for some tupperware in which to transport my lunch only to discover that we had a plethora of containers with no lids. And, the lids we had did not fit on any of the existing containers. How? Explanation, please! When did these guys get legs? Did they melt during the dishwashing phase? It makes me angry just thinking about it. What use do I have for a tupperware container with no lid? How am I going to transport my leftover soup in a topless container? What do I do now, throw out the existing containers and buy a whole new set? Please tell me they sell just plain lids somewhere.

Now on to my favorite disappearing act. It's my favorite because it bothers me the least and is the cheapest to replace. Hair bands. I think these are the easiest to displace because one can remove hair bands in an infinite amount of places. The shower, the bathroom, the bedroom, the living room, other peoples houses, offices, metro trains, cars...you get the idea. But why am I so careless that I lose them every week? As I type right now, I am staring at a rogue hair band on my desk, wondering how it got there since I have my hair tied up at the moment in a different one. Maybe it's just reserves for when I lose the one I have on now. Sigh.

If someone could solve the life mystery of the disappearing socks and tupperware lids, I might sleep better at night. I know there must be other items I am forgetting that seem to walk away just as easily. Writing utensils are surely one of them. But those are not as exciting to talk about because they're in abundance everywhere. What person at work has a pen holder with one lone pen sitting in it? Prove me wrong and I'll loan you one of my 30.

I remember back a year or so ago, the crazy lady from my lobbying job asked me to order pens for each employee and label them so that we wouldn't run out of pens so quickly. She blamed all of us for losing track of our pens. One day I was in her office looking for a highlighter and as I opened her desk drawer, I was blinded by the lights of heaven. I had never seen so many pens, of so many different colors, sizes, lengths, and designs in my life. Pen nabber found. Too bad she was too senile to realize she was the hoarder.

Just like that hidden oasis of pens, sometimes I tell myself that there must be a secret spot in my house where a crush of estranged hair bands, orphaned socks, and lonely lids all hang out. They drink to their new-found freedom. They celebrate the severing of ties with their other half. They laugh at the anguish they continue to cause me.

But while that remains a pigment of my imagination, I need to face reality and come up with a solution. There's got to be an answer to these vexing questions. I wouldn't care as much if I would just find a sock or lid every once in a while. I never do. They've got to be somewhere. I'm thinking I should write to the companies where I buy socks and ask them to start selling them in threes. That way, you lose one, there's no orphan and everyone's happy. You lose two, well then we can hope that two got lost together and will be soon found together. If you lose all three, well then you've got a problem. Or, perhaps we can just blame it all on that monster living in the laundry room. He/She needs to be captured and punished for the mental duress caused.